


An Invisible Touch

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Forced Birth, Forced Pregnancy, Gagged Sam Winchester, Helpless Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Manhandling, Other, Sam Is Pinned Down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 02:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20202115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sam’s never had a dream where he had sex with a ghost before, but he isn’t complaining.Except...  It wasn’t a dream, and he wakes up to the consequences.





	An Invisible Touch

_Everything about it is cold._

_From the way it makes his breath mist in the air._

_To the unseen hands that leave ice crystals on his skin in their wake._

_To the frozen lips that meet his, and then trail their way across his body._

_Even when it enters him, has him arching up to meet it, body delirious with pleasure._

_It steals the warmth out of him, makes him think it’ll never be replaced._

_Somehow, he doesn’t mind._

++

Sam snaps awake, gasping, feeling the damp in his pants immediate and uncomfortable, and hell. It’s been a while since he’s had a wet dream, but that just about makes up for.

Though now he has to get up and go shower. No way can he sleep like this, but there’s a part of him that wants to try; to maybe see if he can get back into that dream, see where it takes him next.

When he tries, something pushes him back down onto the bed. Not hard, not rough. Just matter of fact, an unspoken insistence that he stay just where he is.

Except there’s nothing else in the room.

Maybe he’s still dreaming.

He pants out a “Hello?”

And feels his pulse stutter when his breath turns to vapour in the air.

He’s awake. And he’s definitely not alone.

Something pushes up the hem of his t-shirt, and Sam manages to lift his head enough to see the delicate swell there that makes him flail, and struggle.

It doesn’t help. He’s pinned, wrists by his head, ankles tugged apart until his legs are spread.

When he goes to cry out, a hand settles across his lips, the cold nipping at his skin.

This...this can’t be happening. Nothing should be able to get into the bunker, not with the wards sealing it against any unwanted supernatural presence.

Only Cas has the ability to come and go as he pleases, but Cas isn’t here right now. Dean is, but he’s five rooms and a corner away, and Sam has a sudden, terrifying certainty that he’s not going to be allowed to rouse his sleeping brother.

There’s a sharpness in his tummy, and he doesn’t have to see to know the swelling is getting worse. He can feel it, his body slowly adjusting, the skin at first taut and then giving to the pressure building from within.

Cold fingers stroke him there, and he writhes, desperate to escape them.

But it’s futile. He’s helpless, and in trouble, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

++

From where he is, Sam can just see his alarm clock from the corner of his eye. He can’t decide if it helps or not, because he has no idea how long this will go on for.

But it’s about an hour after he wakes up that the pain starts. A deep throbbing ache, like somebody’s punched him in the gut, and he’d be curling in on himself if he could.

His sleep pants are torn away from him, the fabric ripping as invisible hands toss them aside, and then those same hands are pushing at his knees and ankles, forcing him to bend and spread his legs until he’s open and exposed.

Sam struggles harder, but it’s like fighting air. Whatever has hold of him is resolute and all he does is exhaust himself, and then those hands are back on his stomach and they…

They push.

Sam screams through the ghostly fingers, but he can hear how muffled that sound was, knows it probably didn’t make it out of the room.

He can’t help it, though, screams again and again, as the pressure on his stomach increases, some sickening alternative to him being made to push, and whatever is in him, he can feel it moving lower, sinking inward and down, and then the pain is somewhere else, he’s being stretched, those icy fingers tugging him open, beyond his ability to bear, and…

Something pushes through, and that’s as much as his body, his mind, can take.

His body goes limp, and the cold hands withdraw, and the last thing he hears is a low voice crooning in the dark.

++

“Hey. Sam. Sam!””

Sam jerks away, nearly lashing out before he realises it’s Dean shaking him.

His brother catches hold of his wrist, and pushes his hand down to the bed. “Okay, easy. You have a bad dream?””

Sam looks around him. He’s sweat soaked, and his heart is pounding against his ribs, but…

He’s under the blankets, mostly, and he doesn’t hurt, and when he feels for his stomach, it’s just as flat as it was yesterday.

Thank fuck.

“Yeah. Yeah...just a bad dream.”

Dean pats his shoulder. “Well, you’re awake now. Come on, I made oatmeal.”

Sam nods, waves his brother off. He’s going to need a minute, and Dean goes, leaving him to pull himself together.

What kind of fucking nightmare that was, he has no idea, but given their lives he probably shouldn’t be surprised.

He pushes back the blankets, sets his feet on the floor.

Just a bad-

He’s wearing sleep pants.

And that would be okay, except…

They’re not the ones he was wearing last night.

Those, Sam finds torn to rags under the bed, and he’s never fled a room as fast as he does his own then, running to his brother, unable to drive that eerie voice out of his head.


End file.
